Caught In The Undertow
by Glimmer Conlon O'Leary
Summary: Every step that I take is another mistake to you; and every second I waste is more than I can take. But I've become so numb, I can't feel you there. I know you were just like me, with someone dissapointed in you. Don't look at me that way Momma.


The song "Numb" is owned by Linkin Park and whomever wrote it, not li'l old me. Dave is owned by Disney, and any mentioned characters from "Newsies" are as well! 

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**_{Caught In The Undertow}_**

**.**

Sometimes I don't know what's wrong with me. It seems like the life that used to suit me fine just _doesn't_ anymore. I don't know how to describe it. But I do know one thing: I can't be the son my parents seem to _believe_ I have to be. I can't be my father; I don't _want_ to be my father. 

(I'm tired of being what you want me to be  
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface  
Don't know what you're expecting of me  
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes)

It seems like the person I used to be, or at least the person I _thought_ I was, has just disappeared. I don't know, I used to be content to go to school every day and sit and learn. And I'd walk through the streets and see the newsboys and I didn't have any inclination to be one of them. 

Until the accident at the factory, I never thought I'd be a newsie. And it wasn't until I met Jack and Spot and all the others that I realized that they have it right and the rest of us have it backwards. Living on the streets, being orphaned, isn't so bad, not from what I've seen. Sure, they miss their families, and sure, they want a home, but they have _freedom_. I wish I had freedom. 

(I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I've become so tired so much more aware)  
  


I see now what I never saw back then. I'm aware of things that I never used to notice. I see the way Momma glances around nervously as Poppa is coming home, making sure everything is perfect so he doesn't get angry. I see the way Sarah looks down, jittery, at her needlework whenever a voice is raised or a stranger walks in. I see the way Les shrinks back when Poppa walks by; the way Momma protectively puts herself between Les and Poppa when Poppa gets angry.

It seems like the things you'd say that used to sting me don't anymore. The cuts about me needing to do this, and needing to do that, and needing to be better, and more, and everything else in between—it seems like I'm immune to those comments now. The newsies helped me become tough. I remember how, when I first started, I wore so many prim clothes, how I was so uptight. But then, that day in Pulitzer's office, and after that, when Jack came back, I felt like I was one of them, in manner and in dress. And I liked it. But now I can't get away from you.

  
  


(I'm becoming this all I want to do  
Is be more like me and be less like you)

It seems like every time I turn around, there you are. You're pushing this advertisement as an apprentice for this job in my face, or you're pushing for me to go back to school—and stay there a whole day without running off to be with the newsies.

(Cause everything that you thought I would be  
Has fallen apart right in front of you)  
  


But I don't want to be you. You want me to be a doctor, a lawyer, a chemist, a this, a that—and maybe I don't want to be those things. Maybe I want to be a reporter—even if I have to live in an apartment as small as Denton's. Maybe I don't even know what I want to be yet. All I know is that I don't want or _need_ to be what _you_ want me to be. I need to be what _I_ want me to be. 

(Can't you see that you're smothering me  
Holding too tightly afraid to lose control)

You're so damn terrified that you're going to 'lose' me, as you say. "David, honey, we feel like we're losing you," you say. Well maybe you are. I think maybe you've been losing me for a long time. Even before the newsies, maybe you were losing me. Maybe I was looking for a way out of the trap you had set for me, and the newsies merely showed me the way. But you have to stop stifling me. You can't keep roping me into things that I don't want _be_ roped into. Just _stop._

(Every step that I take is another mistake to you  
And every second I waste is more than I can take)

I hate the way you look at me like I've just disappointed you. I hate the looks you give me, the looks I get when the headmaster has given Les another letter to bring home, asking you why we've both been missing so much school. But I feel like every moment I spend in that God-forsaken school is one moment that I'm throwing away. But I don't hate the looks because they make me feel guilty—I hate them because they make me feel like I'm gonna fly into a conniption about how I'm not a child anymore, how I can make my own goddamn decisions and you can't stop me. 

  
(And I know  
I may end up failing too  
But I know  
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you)

Yeah, that's right, I know. I remember how, when Grandpa was alive, how he would tell me and Sarah stories about how you, Poppa, used to get in so much trouble at school. I remember Grandpa telling us how he wanted you to be a doctor, but you just wanted to run and play and never grow up. He told us, in whispers, that he wished you had become a doctor and moved us out of this City. I remember how he always looked as though he hadn't told his grandkids that he was disappointed in the choices that their father, his son, had made. And you wanna know what? Maybe you'll be telling _my _children that you wished I had done that instead of this—but it's okay, because it happened to you as well. 

  
  
(I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I've become so tired so much more aware)

I can't care anymore. I can't. Because if I keep caring what you think of me, I'll stay here in this house until the day I get married, until the day I get the job you want me to have, until the day the cows come home.

 Don't look at me that way Momma. Don't look at me like I just stuck I knife in your heart. Momma please don't look at me that way. Please Momma. I can take your looks of disappointment, but not the looks of betrayal. I'm not betraying you, I just couldn't keep betraying myself. 

I'm leaving this house Momma. Leaving forever maybe. I have to at least be on my own for a while. I'll stay with the boys until I figure myself out. Because I don't even know myself anymore, I spent so much time in this house where my schedules and my opinions were fathomed for me. I don't even know what I want anymore, except for one thing: I want to be me. David Jacobs. I don't want to be David Jacobs, your son. I want to be just plain David Jacobs. My own man. 

(You were just like me)

You know it's true, Poppa, so don't look at me like I'm speaking Latin. You used to be just like me; you used to have the same worries, and you used to want to break free. Hell, for all that I know, you still do. Maybe you should break free, instead of taking your frustrations out on little Les' bottom with your belt. You could break free instead of giving Momma and Sarah a loud, ranting earful when dinner isn't perfect. I'd ask you to come with me, but I'm kind of leaving to break free of you. No, not kind of: I _am_ leaving to get away from you. 

Part of me wants to stay. But most of me wants to leave. So I think I will. See the world; or maybe just Harlem. I just can't be caught in the undertow of you anymore. I won't be caught here either, I'll make it out of this place. 

You may have been just like me at one point, but I'm not like you. 

Because at the end of the journey, I will win. 

I will win. 

**_{End Notes}_**

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**_._**

Yup. Exactly. I have nothing to say, really. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, so review and tell me what you thought! Thanks NJL girls! And Frog, my NJL boy!!! –hugs to all- 


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